


I'm Not the One You Know

by asaethiel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Winter Soldier, a little angsty, edit: i lied it's pure angst, pre-slash??, pretty much domestic fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asaethiel/pseuds/asaethiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bucky's birthday in four days. Mass planning ensues, with healthy doses of angst, fluff, and plenty of domestic!avengers (aka: I have a lot of feelings about Bucky Barnes).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> guys cap2 MESSED ME UP so i had to combat that by writing happy fluffy domestic AUs with the whole gang (though i suppose angst just works its way into my writing no matter what)  
> this is completely unbeta'd and written mostly past midnight so if you see any glaring mistakes please tell me <3  
> (title is from the run and go by twenty one pilots which just SCREAMS steve/bucky okay just listen to it shh)

Steve’s about halfway through a bowl of (blissfully marshmallow-free) cereal when Tony comes stumbling into the tower kitchen, looking half-awake with dark circles under his eyes and wearing a dirty wife-beater that he probably hasn’t changed for a couple days. Steve initially draws back with a wrinkled nose, reaching out only to pluck the newspaper from Tony’s outstretched hand.

“G’morning, Sunshine,” Tony grumbles, shuffling over to pour himself a cup of reheated coffee. Steve makes a vague sound of reciprocation, skimming the front page as he eats.

“Late night?” Steve says around the cereal, still only half listening when Tony mumbles something about working on his latest suit. “Mmm.”

Then, Steve abruptly drops his spoon into the bowl with a small splash and holds up the paper. “Oh, my god.”

Tony blinks very slowly, looking like he’d much rather be asleep. “What, did someone do something unpatriotic?”

“It’s March seventh,” Steve says, gesturing to the page, like this should make everything clear. Tony just stares at him.

“Wow, Cap, where’d you learn to read like that?”

Scowling lightly, Steve says, “No, Tony, I mean - Friday is Bucky’s birthday.”

Tony’s expression suddenly becomes more alert as he looks at Steve. “Oh. _Oh_.”

“What’re we gonna do?” Steve asks conspiratorially, straightening on the island stool. “We should do something.”

Brightening slightly, Tony grins and suggests, “Surprise party?” The withering glare he gets in return makes him shut up, but not without an eye roll. “Alright, Rogers, it was a _joke_. No startling the jumpy PTSD ex-assassin, gotcha.”

“I’m calling Nat,” Steve says pointedly, and turns away while Tony sips his coffee with a sigh.

* * *

 

“Alright, so, let’s go over our options again,” Natasha says diplomatically. Steve is looking at her through a beautifully crisp Stark tech video-chat, while she's lounging in the corner of one of the ridiculously indie coffee places she frequents while off-duty. “Surprise party?”

“Out for obvious reasons,” Steve replies. “Broken limbs would be a bad outcome of his first birthday party post-cryo.” He’s curled in a slightly ancient armchair in the living room of the penthouse, with JARVIS guarding the room against intruders (i.e., Bucky).

“Okay. Movies?”

“Mmm, too risky. Like I said, he’s still spooked kind of easily. Plus, crowds. Dark rooms."

“Garden party?”

“No garden.”

“Dinner party?”

Steve frowns, thinking of all the Avengers plus Bucky crowded around a table, trying to make small-talk. “Sounds disastrous.”

“We - actually, no,” Nat says. “I was going to suggest something with alcohol, but then Clint and Tony would probably start playing beer pong like the college boys they are.”

“Or you’d drink them under the table,” Steve snorts, to which Nat nods thoughtfully.

“That’s an option too.”

Steve shakes his head slightly, snapping out of it. “But no, no alcohol, at least not as the main entré. We need something else.”

Nat is silent for a moment, and looks to be mulling over something. “I may have an idea,” she says finally, “but it’s going to take some coordinating. I’ll call you back in an hour.” Steve starts to ask what it is, but then she’s gone, screen blank. Steve just sighs and sinks into the chair. It’s nice, reminiscent of his old life, which had been precisely why he’d goaded Tony into buying it for the communal tower. Steve lets his head hang over the back, and crosses his feet in front of him, staring at the ceiling while he thinks. Finally, he grabs his phone again and calls Bruce.

The two of them don’t talk much, but the scientist is smiling when he answers. “Hey, Steve.”

“Hello,” Steve says, returning the smile.

“What can I do for you?” Banner is wearing his omnipresent lab coat, looking to be at work - he’d taken a research position at a local university after the whole Alien Invasion thing.

“Well,” Steve starts with a deep breath, “Bucky’s birthday is on Friday. I was thinking we should do something for him, but Tony is useless and Nat’s withholding information, so I’m stuck. I thought, since you and him - well - what I mean is, you both-”

“React violently to unexpected stimuli?” Bruce suggests wryly. “Yeah, I understand. So you want me to give the anxious-guy seal of approval?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, not just - I mean, you’re also more normal than either Tony or Nat, so I figured you might have some ideas that didn’t involve illegal things.”

Bruce snorts after saying something over his shoulder to an intern. “Steve, if I’m what passes for n _ormal_ -”

“You kind of are,” Steve says wearily. “Hey, if you’re busy, I can call back.”

Bruce has a calculating look on his face. “No, it’s fine,” he says reassuringly. “Just thinking. Hmm. Maybe - oh!” Banner’s voice hitches with excitement.

“What?”

“I’ve got an idea, but it’s - oh, it’s complicated. I’ll have to call Tony. I’m sorry, Steve, I don’t mean to rush off, I just - hell, if we can pull this off it’ll be - I gotta go, Steve, I’ll call you back!” And then he’s gone, too, and Steve brings his knees up to his chest and frowns at the blank phone.

He’s in the same position roughly two minutes later, when JARVIS comes over the speakers in the room to let Steve know that Bucky’s heading his way. Steve tells JARVIS to let him in, and a couple moments later the door slides open and Bucky walks in.

He’s changed a lot since Steve found him a little outside Brooklyn, living out of the gutters with no orders, and thus, no purpose. Steve and Sam had found him, had tried to talk to him. There had been blows dealt, and a lot of shouting, and maybe - though Steve wouldn’t admit it - a little crying involved, but a day later they’d brought Bucky back to Sam’s apartment (safer than Steve’s) and started the long, hard process of getting him rehabilitated. Now, though, both Bucky and Steve have taken up residence in Stark Tower, and Bucky is better than Steve has seen him in recent memory. His traumatized, brainwashed years with HYDRA have still left him majorly fucked up - Steve doubts they’ll ever stop - but he’s learning to deal with them a bit better, learning how to be a normal (ish) person, how to order a coffee or react to jokes or not intimidate strangers in passing. His eyes get empty sometimes, and he mumbles panicked Russian when they have to go into crowds, but he’s there, he’s alive, and Steve can always work with that.

He looks loads better now, too. His hair is still long and slightly shaggy, but neater - Clint had cut it, actually - and mostly clean shaven, only a hint of stubble along his jaw. He’s clean, showering every morning (so, probably cleaner than Tony), and any wounds he had from his last mission are healing.

Today his hair’s pulled back with an elastic, with clumps falling out over his face, and he’s still wearing the sweatpants and hoodie that he’s been using as pajamas. He shuffles barefoot into the room, toes poking out from under the frayed hem of his sweatpants. With a solemn nod at Steve, he sits down cross-legged on the couch, hands never leaving the sweatshirt’s pocket.

“Hey,” Steve says with a smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Bucky parrots back. He’s looking straight ahead, eyes unfocused.

Steve frowns. “Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky is still, silent, and for a horrible second Steve thinks he’s having some kind of PTSD flashback, but then his face cracks open in a jaw-splitting yawn, and Steve laughs.

“Tired much?” he asks as Bucky scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his human hand and yawns again.

“I didn’t get much sleep,” Bucky says quietly, which sobers Steve up quite nicely.

"Is there... is there anything that would help?" Steve asks softly. Bucky shakes his head. They sit and stew in silence.

Steve speaks up. "So, Bucky, you ready to be 26?" When Bucky gives him a blank look, he tries again. "Well, 94, I guess. Time flies, huh?"

Bucky still doesn't answer, but that's been his modus operandi lately so Steve isn't too put off by it. He does, though, notice the look of weary confusion on Bucky's face. He recognizes the look. It means today's a low day.

"Your birthday, Buck," Steve says gently. "It's on Friday."

Bucky studies him for a moment before nodding. "Okay," he says, like he's taking in new information instead of remembering anything.

"You want to do anything in particular?" Steve asks with false cheerfulness, leaning back in the chair and reaching out to tap Bucky's foot with his own. To his credit, Bucky only flinches a little.

He shrugs, which Steve takes to mean, ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to like to do.’

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. “That’s okay,” he forces out, and when Bucky looks up warily he pushes a smile. Bucky’s eyes flick over his face for a moment. Then he shifts his leg to tap Steve’s foot back.

* * *

 

They’re still playing extended footsie later that evening, sitting around the dinner table. It’s a surprisingly traditional old table, with real, thickly grained wood, and four of six occupied chairs. Tony and Pepper sit on one side, Steve and Bucky on the other, as usual. Tonight’s dinner is spaghetti and garlic bread (they’ve been keeping meals that require knives at a safe distance), and Steve’s so, so glad Pepper made the red sauce, because the last time he tried he ended up burning it to a foul-smelling crisp.

Bucky knocks his ankle against Steve’s under the table, distractedly swirling spaghetti around his fork. He’s been melancholy all day, eating little and talking less. To Steve’s pleasant surprise, despite the signs it would be a low day, there haven’t been any memory-related incidents, so maybe progress is really being made. Either way, Bucky’s not _completely_ lost in his mind today, for which Steve is infinitely grateful. He pokes him back with his toes.

“So,” Tony says around a huge mouthful of garlic bread, and Pepper smacks him lightly around the back of the head. “How’re my favorite old geezers doing today?”

Steve nudges Bucky with his shoulder. Bucky glances up, blinks solemnly, nods in lieu of a verbal answer and goes back to his food, and Steve bites back a sigh. “We’re good,” he steps in. “Quiet day. Nothing eventful happened.” From the looks on Pepper and Tony’s faces, they know he means the bad kind of eventful. Bucky just sits there, tense, until Steve knocks their knees together and his friend relaxes slightly.

Bucky likes physical contact, Steve has noticed. He’d originally mentioned it to Tony, but the mechanic had just made some crack about getting Bucky laid, so Steve keeps his observations to himself now. But he still sees it in the way Bucky leans into the slightest touch, even something as simple as a tap of the knee; the way his face loses some of its tension and his shoulders relax whenever Steve’s near enough to lean on. But it’s just Steve, and sometimes Tony, Pepper, Sam, or the other Avengers. Anyone else and, well. Bucky - the old Bucky - had been the same, sort of - always with hands on shoulders and always liberal with hugs and always with a slightly skewed concept of personal space. But he’d never had a panic attack when a stranger in a store accidentally knocked into him. Steve sometimes thinks about what HYDRA did to him, and if there was some sort of fucked up Stockholm Syndrome thing going on, just from the look on Bucky’s face the first time Steve had put a hand on his shoulder.

There’s a few moments of awkward silence as they all continue to eat. Tony nods and chews in response to Steve and Pepper smiles tightly, looking a mix of tired and worried. Then, just when Steve’s about to break the silence with more inane small talk, his phone rings loudly.

“Oh, my god,” Tony snorts, swallowing down his mouthful. “Have you really not changed the ringtone?”

When Tony had given Steve the phone, he’d had all wallpapers set to some picture of a bald eagle or the American flag. The default ringtone, unsurprisingly, was the national anthem.

Steve frowns. “I didn’t, but I put it on silent. How did-” Two things make him freeze. One: he notices the shocked, tense look on Bucky’s face from the loud burst of _oh say can you see_. Two: he sees Nat’s name on the caller ID.

Tearing his slightly guilt-ridden gaze away from Bucky, Steve glances sheepishly at Tony and Pepper. “It’s Nat,” he says, which speaks for itself.

“Take it,” Tony says immediately. “Don’t worry about us, Jesus, go, if you let it pass three rings she’ll scalp you.” Pepper rolls her eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve says apologetically, getting up to leave. As he goes, he squeezes Bucky’s arm slightly and gives him what he hopes is a comforting look.

Once he’s in the privacy of the hallway, Steve answers. “Natasha.”

“Hey,” she says. “Sorry about earlier. I had a plan, had to talk to Clint and Fury about it-”

“Whoa, what?” Steve interrupts. “What kind of plan is this?”

It’s a regular call this time, not video, but Steve can still tell Nat’s giving her signature deadly smirk. “A good one.” She then proceeds to fill him in.

“Are you... are you sure that’s a good idea?” Steve asks when she’s done, voice a bit dumbfounded. “I mean, it might trigger something.”

“I was counting on it,” Nat says matter-of-factly. “Triggering something good, that is.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t know.”

Natasha sighs. “You know better than I do what’s best for him, but I thought it might be nice. Either way, make your decision fast - Fury keeps reminding me that he has a _Very Busy Schedule_.”

“Alright,” Steve says, “I’ll think about it.” There’s a pause, then, “Thank you for the idea, though, Nat. It’s very thoughtful.”

“Yeah, okay, don’t go pinning your emotional thoughtfulness on me,” she grumbles good-naturedly. “Call me back in the morning, okay? Clint’s getting in from Mumbai later tonight, so he can help with whatever you decide to do.”

“What was Clint doing in Mumbai?” Steve asks curiously.

Nat doesn’t answer. Instead, she says breezily, “Talk to you later, Steve! Bye!” And then the line goes dead. Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something about _if you didn’t want me to know then why mention it_ as he walks back into the dining room.

* * *

 

After dinner, Tony disappears back downstairs to work on his latest suit, and Pepper retires to their shared bedroom to relax. Steve’s a bit drowsy, but Bucky’s still wide awake, and so Steve sits with him in the den like earlier.

This time Steve lays sprawled sideways over the arms of the chair, legs dangling over one end and head over the other. One hand brushes the floor and he runs his fingers back and forth along the tiny crack between two panels of wood flooring. Bucky is sitting on the couch again, knees tucked up to his chest and back pressed into one corner. His eyes watch Steve’s hand idly, and his hair’s completely fallen out of its tiny ponytail now.

“Bucky,” Steve says carefully, “do you ever think about our old lives? In Brooklyn? 40’s?”

Bucky frowns slightly. “I remember fragments,” he mumbles.

“Do you want to remember, or is it just... extra information?”

Bucky looks up, and the expression is so raw and childlike that Steve flinches. “Of course I want to remember,” he says. “How can I be Bucky Barnes if I don’t remember? Otherwise I’m just a fake.” It’s the longest string of consecutive words he’s spoken all afternoon.

“Wh- Buck, no,” Steve says hurriedly, swinging his legs around to sit upright, leaning forward as if to reach out, brush his hand against Bucky’s, but he doesn’t. “No, no, you’ll remember, it’s just coming back slowly. You’ll get there, though, okay? I promise. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky looks like he wants to say something. His eyebrows are furrowed painfully and his jaw shifts. The only thing that comes out, though, is, “I’m going to go to bed.”

“...Bucky?” Steve asks, because Bucky has trouble sleeping, usually doesn’t even want to be in his bedroom before eleven. Steve usually stays up with him, and they sit and talk about nothing. This is unlike him.

“Good night,” Bucky says, getting up and moving away.

He leaves, and when the door shuts, it shuts on Steve Rogers staring blankly after his best friend. JARVIS interjects to say, “Mister Rogers, I don’t think that was the reassurance he was looking for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i'm not the most reliable when it comes to actually following through with writing, but as this is only gonna be four chapters i'm sure i'll be able to actually complete it (also like half my thoughts have been about TWS this week this is a /problem/). Next chapter should be up some time next week, and we'll go from there! again, i'm only like half awake rn so if i used the wrong 'your' somewhere or changed tenses or smth, just let me know! and have a great day, yeah?


	2. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is waaaaaay overdue, my apologies! my excuse is that i re-wrote it like five times and also i'm a lazy piece of crap. but i'm really excited for the next chapter, the rest of the gang enters the picture and it's much longer. till then, thanks for reading <3

The next morning, Steve wakes up to screaming.

It's barely even morning, really - 2:00. But Steve jolts awake as soon as the first cries reach his ears. Jumping out of bed, Steve sprints out of his sparsely decorated room and down a couple doors to Bucky's even plainer one. When he bursts through the doors, he sees Bucky huddled upright in the fetal position, sitting on the floor against his bed. His hands are tearing at his hair, his eyes screwed shut, and he’s screaming bloody murder.

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, skidding onto his knees and reaching out to grab Bucky’s arms, hesitant and swift at the same time. “Buck, hey, look at me, everything’s okay, you’re okay, Bucky-”

The second Steve’s hand makes contact with Bucky’s real arm, his mechanical one shoots out and circles Steve’s throat. Next thing Steve knows, he’s been flipped onto his back and Bucky is crouched next to him, cold metal fingers wrapped around his neck so hard Steve can feel it bruising.

“Buck-” he wheezes, gasping for breath and clawing at Bucky’s hand, trying to push it away. “It’s me-” Bucky’s human hand is still twisted in his hair, and his shoulders are hunched away from Steve, like he’s trying to shield himself. He’s muttering something in rapid-fire Russian and breathing heavily, which is more than can be said for Steve.

Just as Steve is sure his face has gone blue, he manages to pry Bucky’s fingers off of his neck and scramble backwards, hands out in front of him. “Bucky, Bucky,” he gasps, throat sore. “Hey, look, it’s me, it’s Steve, I-” He breaks off into a fit of coughing, doubling over.

Bucky, meanwhile, leans back against the bed, clutching his metal arm with his real one, eyes wide and breathing shallow and fast. When Steve finally stops coughing, he looks up to see Bucky clenching his jaw with panicked eyes.

“Bucky,” Steve forces out, voice breaking. Everything has stopped moving, for the most part, and Steve figures it’s safe to crawl forward and slowly, _slowly_ reach out to touch Bucky’s hand. Bucky flinches a bit, and grits his teeth, but doesn’t leap back into action. Steve rubs his shoulder with one hand, using the other to brush his wild hair back from his face. “Hey,” he croaks. “Look at me. You’re okay.”

Bucky’s eyes flick down to make contact with Steve’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and fuck if that isn’t the most heartbreaking part of this whole ordeal. Steve draws a painful, shaky breath, waiting for his throat to un-swell, and moves so he’s kneeling right in front of Bucky. He presses their foreheads together and focuses on breathing slowly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers back. Bucky’s breath is shaky on his cheek and Steve takes his hand, squeezing it quickly.

Footsteps come pounding down the hall, and Tony bursts through the door, the gloves of his suit already on his hands.

“I heard-” he pants, but stops when he sees Steve and Bucky huddled together on the floor like a couple of kids with nightmares. There’s a couple seconds of silence wherein Steve looks at Tony, expression pained. “Anything I can do?” Tony mumbles, and Steve shakes his head, so he glances around, nods awkwardly, and leaves slowly.

Steve and Bucky sit there in the dark for a few more minutes before Steve draws back hesitantly. “Buck,” he says softly. “You should - you should try and get some more rest.” The look he gets in return is one part frantic and two parts weary.

“Come on,” Steve says shakily, getting up and pulling Bucky gently with him.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky repeats, reaching out with his human hand to brush his fingers against the already-receding marks on Steve’s throat.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, managing a smile. “Really, though, you... you should try and sleep, or relax at least.”

Bucky swallows and warily crawls into the bed - a simple twin bed with a lumpy old duvet and poky springs. Steve had quietly requested Tony downgrade the room from it’s former luxury, to ease Bucky into it slower.

“I can stay for a while, if you want,” Steve suggests quietly, and Bucky looks at him for a moment before nodding once. Steve sits down in the creaky chair next to the bed, rubbing his neck tenderly. Finally, he asks, “Nightmare?”

Bucky’s rolled over with the blanket pulled halfway up his face, but his eyes say all Steve needs to know.

+++

'A while' turns into a bit longer. Some time after Bucky's eyes finally drift shut, Steve blinks, and when he opens his eyes he finds it took eight hours.

He's still sitting in the wooden chair, slouched at an uncomfortable angle against it. Bucky, miraculously, is still asleep, huddled under the duvet as sunlight filters softly through the blinds. He's frowning, even in unconsciousness, and Steve worries about how much nightmare-free sleep he actually gets.

He sits there watching Bucky's chest rise and fall under the covers until there's a soft knock at the door and Tony pokes his head in. "Hey," he stage-whispers, "JARVIS said you were awake. Want some grub?"

With a sigh, Steve pushes himself out of the chair and glances at Bucky. Tony seems to notice his reluctance to leave, because he adds, "He's been out like a light since two, he'll be fine. And anyway, JARVIS can keep an eye on him - c'mon, even super soldiers gotta eat."

Which is why, five minutes later, Steve’s been herded upstairs to the island in the penthouse’s bar-turned-kitchenette and had a bowl of Coco Puffs shoved at him. He gives Tony a mild look of distaste, but before he can protest, a voice pipes up, “He made me eat them, too.”

Spinning around on his stool, Steve sees one Bruce Banner perched in an armchair in the small carpeted area down a half-level from the kitchen. He looks a bit tired, hair ruffled and glasses crooked, but his eyes are bright.

“Too much sugar,” Bruce continues with a smile. Steve returns it.

“Hello, Doctor Banner. Good to see you.”

 _“Doctor Banner?”_ Tony snorts from the other side of the counter. “Please. It’s just Brucie, Steve-o!”

Bruce sighs and says, “Tony, you can’t just go around adding suffixes to people’s names-” and Tony looks about to reply, so Steve steps in.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks loudly. Tony and Bruce both shut up with exasperated looks.

“Well,” Bruce starts, “I was going to wait until I had a better idea of what this is going to take, but Tony told me about the... Um. The _incident_ this morning. And I figured I should talk to you as soon as possible.”

Steve grimaces and rubs his neck, still mildly sore. “What’s this about?”

Bruce exchanges a glance with Tony, and for a second they both look like mischievous kids. “Okay,” Tony starts. “So this morning, when I... came in, you had bruises around your neck, which I’m taking to mean Bucky’s arm got a bit out of control, yeah?” Steve nods narrowly. “So I mentioned it to Bruce, and it fits right in with what he was saying yesterday - Bruce, you wanna explain?”

Bruce grins. “Sure. Alright, so, Bucky’s arm - it was designed as a weapon, right? I know Tony did some prelim scans, so we’ve got a basic knowledge of how it functions. It seems to be myoelectric at the shoulder, but it also has an incredible range of motion in the elbow, and the finger joints are some of the most realistic I’ve ever seen - so, some sort of sequential control method. And he must have some sort of replica nerve endings in his hands, from the way he fights. It’s hard to pull a trigger without looking when you can’t feel where it is. And of course, no human hand is strong enough to give you bruises like that, Steve.” He takes a deep breath. “What I’m getting at is that Bucky’s arm is incredibly well-made, especially for scientists from the 40’s, but it was made to kill people, not to function as a normal arm. It’s too powerful for his own good, and HYDRA’s records show they needed to reprogram it regularly to keep it from shorting out. How long has Bucky been off ice?”

Steve glances down. “Couple months.”

Bruce nods. “Then his arm’s probably beginning to malfunction. He can’t control it.”

With a gulp, Steve clings to Bruce’s words. If he’s right, then maybe Bucky wasn’t having a memory lapse - maybe there really is something wrong with the metal arm, maybe Bucky’s still getting better.

Tony interrupts his desperate thoughts with, “Plus, the thing just screams ex-Soviet. I mean, a red star? Could you _be_ any more Communist? So, we were thinking, why don’t we just...”

“-build him a new arm?” Bruce finishes excitedly. “I mean, with a few days and Tony’s help, I'm sure we could put together a safer replacement."

"With super cool extras," Tony adds.

Steve blinks. "That's... Wow, really? You'd do that?"

Grinning, Bruce and Tony nod. "So what d'you think?"

"I think you should get started!"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," Tony quips as he skids in his socks downstairs towards his labs. Once he's gone, Bruce turns and grins at Steve.

"C'mon, I'll show you where the Wheaties are."

+++

An hour later, after eating a bowl of Wheaties and being kicked out of the labs by Tony and Bruce so they could work, Steve wanders back to Bucky's room to check on him.

When he enters, he sees Bucky sitting up against the headboard, looking a bit less tired than usual. “Steve,” he says softly.

Steve smiles. “Hey, Buck. Gave me a bit of a scare this morning.”

Bucky’s face, passively blank as ever, darkens a bit. “I'm sorry.”

“Forget it,” Steve says with forced joviality. “It was just a nightmare.”

Bucky looks at Steve for a long moment, eyes calculating and tired, but he doesn’t argue. Steve sticks his hands in his pockets and leans against the doorframe. “Hey, it’s a sunny day. You wanna go for a walk or something?”

The duvet on Bucky’s bed is kicked back, Bucky sprawled on top of it, and he worries the hem with his human fingers. “We’re in Manhattan,” he says dryly, voice hoarse, but god, it’s music to Steve’s ears. “Heart of the city. Seems like a bad idea for me.”

“Bullshit,” Steve grins. “It’s after rush hour, sidewalks are practically empty.” Bucky gives him a scathing look.

“Okay, how ‘bout this,” Steve says diplomatically. “You come for a walk with me, I’ll get Pepper to stop fussing about your hair.”

There’s enough of Bucky left in the assassin’s brain to elicit a smirk. “Getting desperate, huh, Rogers?” he mumbles, eyes glinting. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Pepper doesn’t scare me,” he says for what feels like the fifth time that month. Honestly, if not for the fact that they have no chemistry, Steve could almost mistake the redhead for Peggy. “Pepper scares _you_. Now come on.”

Reluctantly, Bucky slides off the bed, and Steve ducks out of the room for a moment while he pulls on clothes. A minute later the two walk past Tony’s labs and Steve calls, “We’re going on a walk, be back later!”

“Don’t get lost!” Tony yells back.

Bucky’s street clothes consist of jeans and boots - both black - and an equally dark jacket that looks much to warm for a day like today, but the alternative is showing off what Sam calls his ‘terminator arm,’ and that’s a step they’re not ready to take. Steve thinks about the less-terminator-y arm Bruce and Tony are concocting in the labs, and has to repress a smile. _It’s a surprise_ , he reminds himself.

They take the elevator down to the ground floor. In the lobby, Steve waves cheerfully to the staff at the desk, while Bucky just hunches his shoulders beside him. When they reach the door, Steve pulls Bucky aside.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “We don’t have to go too far, just down the street, we can turn around whenever you want, okay? If you think you’re gonna... _freak out_ , just say something.”

Bucky nods firmly. This isn’t the first time they’ve gone on a walk, but that time had ended with Bucky having a panic attack in the middle of the crowd and bolting home, pushing people out of his way. No one was hurt, just disgruntled, but Bucky had been in a state. Hadn’t said anything the rest of the week.

Honestly, Steve isn’t sure ‘panic attack’ is the best phrase for what Bucky has. At first he thought the guy was scared of HYDRA coming after him, but after a while it became apparent that HYDRA wasn’t something for Bucky to be scared of so much as obey. He didn’t get what Bucky was really upset about until one day Steve had been attempting to show him a local cafe - which had been barely half-full at the time - and Bucky had stopped and said, “What if I hurt them?”

Steve’s initial response had been, “You won’t.” Then, “I’ll make sure you don’t.”

“You can’t stop me,” Bucky had replied. His tone hadn’t been threatening, just bluntly, grimly honest, and it’s still the scariest thing Steve’s ever heard.

Bucky, standing with his back to the doorframe, looks at Steve and nods almost imperceptibly. Having used up his quota of words for the morning, he doesn’t speak, but follows close behind Steve as they emerge onto the street.

It is sunny out, not a cloud in the sky. Bucky and Steve walk pressed close together amid the mildly bustling sidewalks of downtown Manhattan. They don’t talk. Steve has learned that sometimes Bucky just needs to steel himself on his own.

They get down a few blocks before a large group exits a Dunkin’ Donuts right in front of them. Bucky skids to a halt, and Steve does the same after a beat, hanging back to press against Bucky comfortingly. Bucky’s eyes are wide and his eyebrows are furrowed, his fists are clenched, and his whole body is tense. The group, unaware that they’d caught a master assassin by surprise, walked around them, talking loudly, and Steve’s pulse raced on Bucky’s behalf. This was, more or less, what had happened last time, before Bucky had lost it.

Bucky clenches his eyes shut, and without thinking Steve finds his hand and squeezes it. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “We’ll turn around, just breathe.” He tugs Bucky gently after him, going back down the sidewalk, herded carefully to the side.

They make their way carefully down the sidewalk, Steve still clutching Bucky’s hand. His friend’s palm is sweaty, and his fingers are a vice around Steve’s, but he hasn’t blown a fuse yet, so Steve counts it as a victory. “One foot in front of the other,” Steve hums in an undertone.

Then, before either of them knows it, they’re back at Stark Tower. Steve pauses and looks up at the massive, glimmering building, and turns to grin at Bucky. “Hey,” he says gently, and Bucky’s face relaxes when Steve knocks their ankles together. “You made it. We’re home.” Bucky looks at Steve like he’s just delivered the best news his friend’s ever heard - and who knows, maybe he has.

“I made it,” Bucky echoes quietly, and it’s gonna take years for Steve to get over the way he smiles.


	3. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uGH WOW GUESS WHO WAS AWOL AGAIN. i'm super sorry jfklgbskgklsfn it was just school and then work and then trips and also i'm a piece of shit uwu   
> nah but seriously, i'll probably take ages to finish the last chapter, but i promise i'll finish it <3 thanks for sticking with me this long guys! again, i'm sorry x1000, there's kisses in this chapter to make up for it c: ily all, thanks for reading!

No one in the tower wakes up before Steve. Not even Pepper. Sometimes Tony pulls an all nighter, but when he does get to sleep, he _sleeps_. So when Steve opens his eyes in the morning to the sound of pots and pans clanging around in the kitchen, he’s suitably confused.

Padding down the hall in his socks and stifling a yawn, Steve checks his watch. 4:00 am. _Who the hell-_

When he enters the kitchen, he sees none other than Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff huddled around the stove, cooking something that’s made the whole room steamy and delicious-smelling.

“Hey,” Steve says groggily, voice a bit hoarse. Clint and Nat whip around, and grin when they see him.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” Clint laughs, looking dead tired himself. “My plane got in like an hour ago, it was delayed, and I’m starving.”

“I’m making bacon and eggs,” Nat says without looking up from the pan on the stove. She looks calm and collected as always, fully dressed and not yawning even in the slightest. Well, okay, maybe a little.

“Sounds great,” Steve says around a yawn of his own. “Does Tony know you’re here?”

“He’ll figure it out,” Clint says, munching on a piece of toast and sitting on a stool. “We told JARVIS.”

Steve plops down on a stool next to him. “How was Mumbai?”

Clint glares pointedly at the back of Tasha’s head. “So much for confidentiality, _Natasha_ ,” he grumbles, but ultimately sighs and says, “It was a week with about three collective hours of sleep. So, awesome.”

Steve raises his eyebrows and says nothing.

Suddenly Natasha lets out an aborted shriek and scrambles around with the stove controls. Steve and Clint watch bemusedly as she turns around, face scarlet, and intones, “I burned the bacon.”

In the time it takes Clint to stop laughing, Nat quickly slides the burned strips into the trash and dumps the scrambled eggs on three plates. “Can it, Barton. We’ve still got that sparring match today, remember.” Clint blanches.

“I bet her twenty bucks and a coffee that she couldn’t beat me if she had one hand tied behind her back,” he mutters to Steve. “She said she’d do it with two.”

“That’s gonna be your own fault,” Steve laughs.

“Alright, chuckleheads, get it before it’s gone,” Nat says, pushing two of the plates at them and taking the third for herself.

“Thank god for normal food,” Steve sighs, “Tony’s trying to make me live off Coco Puffs.”

Clint perks up. “You’ve got Coco Puffs?” He abandons his eggs and heads to raid the cabinets. Steve rolls his eyes and scoops Clint’s eggs onto his plate, and Nat mouths, _five year old._

“So, how goes it with the long-lost bestie?” Clint says conversationally as he darts around Nat to get to the bowls and milk.

Steve shifts uncomfortably and shoves more eggs in his mouth. “Nothing too disastrous yet. He did, um, try and strangle me yesterday, but Bruce put that down to his arm malfunctioning.”

“Bruce is here?” Nat asks.

“Yeah. He and Tony are making Buck a new arm that’s less dangerous. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“So when’s this shindig gonna go down?” Clint asks, munching on his Coco Puffs. Nat plucks one out of his bowl and pops it in her mouth with a smirk.

“Tomorrow,” says Steve. “I’m told Nat filled you in on her plan?”

Clint nods. “Yep. Are we going through with it?”

Steve looks at Natasha, who just lifts a questioning eyebrow. He sighs, then smiles. “Yeah, I guess we are. And I’ve got some ideas to help.”

+++

After convening the council with Clint and Nat, Steve heads to Tony’s room to clear the plan with him. It’s empty, so Steve checks downstairs to find Tony, Bruce, and Bucky in the labs. The two scientists are tinkering around with different machines, and Bucky is sitting at the work table looking confused but cheerful.

“Morning, Cap’n Crunch,” Tony says as Steve comes in, not looking up from the display he’s swiping at. “Come to stop us from poisoning Barnes with the evils of modern technology?”

“I don’t care as long as you didn’t make him watch porn on one of your Starkpads,” Steve shoots back goodnaturedly. It gets a smile out of Bucky, and Steve walks over to take a seat beside him.

“I’m offended!” Tony gasps, still not breaking concentration from his screen. “Anyway, Brucie’s too good a hall monitor for that.”

Bruce, who’s toying with what looks like a small engine, makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“So what brings you here, then?” Tony asks.

Steve clears his throat awkwardly. “I just wanted to talk to you, but it can wait.” Tony finally glances over at him, and Steve cocks an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction.

The penny drops. “...Right!” Tony declares. “Later. We’ll _talk_. Right.”

Steve sighs, “Oh my _god_.”

“You’re an awful liar,” Bucky mumbles, mouth quirking upward in a smile. Tony puts on the most offended face he can muster, then grins and goes back to his screen.

“Why are you all up so early?” Steve asks.

Bruce shrugs, setting down the engine. “We were working pretty late last night, and Bucky came in, so we all sort of slumber-partied all night.”

“You’ve been here all _night?_ I mean, Tony and Bucky, you two I understand, but Bruce?”

Bruce laughs. “Don’t worry, I made them get some sleep. We got nine hours. Between the three of us.”

Steve laughs and glances at Bucky. “So, what, did you camp out on the lab floor? Seems uncomfortable.”

Bucky snorts and rests his elbows on the table, chin on his hands. He cocks an eyebrow at Steve. “Not the most uncomfortable place we’ve camped out, right, Punk?”

Tony freezes and glances at them. “Oh, my god. Did he - did you just say that with - with _suggestive implicati-_ You are _94,_ oh my _god,_ Bruce, get me some bleach for my _brain-_ ”

“93,” Steve laughs. He learned ages ago how to brush off Bucky’s innuendos, same as Tony’s, but it’s been so long since he’s heard one from his friend that he can’t help a slight blush creeping across his face. “93 for another day.”

Tony takes a second away from looking disgusted to nod. “Yeah, birthday, right. Hey, on an unrelated note, I’ve gotta ...take a dump. Steve, do you wanna - wait, okay, no that doesn’t work. Forget that. I’m gonna grab an energy bar. Yeah. Steve, do you want one?”

Steve shoots Tony a confused glance. “Um. Sure, thanks.”

“No, I mean,” Tony widens his eyes pointedly. “Do you wanna come get one with me?”

Squinting, Steve gets up. Bucky looks at him with a barely concealed laugh, and Steve takes a moment to wonder what kind of nostalgia his sleepover with the mad scientists induced, because he might have to employ them to do it every night. Steve bumps Bucky’s shoulder with his arm and nods to Bruce before following Tony upstairs.

“Okay,” Steve says once they’re out of earshot, “please tell me that’s not you _actually_ lying, because that’s the worst I’ve ever heard.”

“You should meet Simmons,” Tony snorts in an undertone. “Smart girl, but Christ-” He stops and clears his throat, leaning against the kitchen island. “But I’m extraordinarily curious - what’s this thing we need to _talk_ about? Also, why does it smell like food in here? It’s my kitchen, it shouldn’t smell like food.”

“Nat made eggs and burnt bacon.”

“Nat’s here?”

“She and Clint are sparring now.”

“ _Clint’s_ here?”

“Fury’s in there keeping an eye on them, too.”

Tony sputters. “ _Fury_ \- Steven, when the hell did this become S.H.I.E.L.D.’s home base-”

“I’m kidding!” Steve laughs. “I’m kidding, Fury’s not here. Nat and Clint are though, they got in this morning. I guess JARVIS didn’t tell you...?”

Tony shoots a disgruntled glance around the room, which is about as close as he can get to actually glaring at his manservant. Machineservant? AI-servant?

“Well, they’re here to help with Bucky’s birthday.”

In as few words as possible, Steve explains the plan to Tony, who’s eyes grow steadily wider.

“That,” he says, “is _genius.”_

“So you’re okay with us commandeering a floor?”

“This is a skyscraper!” Tony grins. “Take all the floors you want.” He spins on his heel and heads over to the stairway back to the labs. “Actually, though,” he adds quickly, “don’t, Pepper’ll flay me if you try and convert the penthouse.”

Steve laughs and grabs a few energy bars to go with their cover story before heading down after Tony.

+++

When Clint and Nat stumble out of the training room, Steve is leaning against the wall with a smirk. He wordlessly high-fives Nat as she waves a fresh 20 dollar bill teasingly at Clint.

“Fuck you both,” Clint grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Lighten up, Katniss,” calls a voice, and then Tony’s striding quickly down the hall towards them. “Special delivery downstairs from the Big Man.”

They all exchange a glance and head for the elevators.

Downstairs, waiting in the lobby with more boxes than Steve’s seen in his life, is Nick Fury. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses in lieu of his typical eyepatch, and his expression is cynical, as usual. He raises an eyebrow at them. “I don’t know who’s crazy-ass plan was originally, but you’re all crazy for going along with it. Here’s the stuff you wanted, Stark.”

“I placed the order,” Tony grins at them. “Took me a while to figure out everything we’d need, but Wikipedia never lies. Cap, you’ll have to help me set it up, though. For authenticity.”

“We’ll all help,” says Clint, stooping to grab a box, and then groaning. _“Ow.”_

“Quit,” Nat smirks, “whining.” She grabs a couple smaller boxes, and Steve and Tony maneuver the biggest ones onto the elevator.

It takes about twenty minutes to transport everything to the floor right below the penthouse. Once there, Fury heaves a dramatic sigh and lowers his glasses, piercing Steve with a ghoulish stare.

“I’m not sure how well this is gonna work, but if anyone can pull it off, its you, Rogers, and the rest of you idiots.”

“Are you coming tomorrow?” asks Nat. Fury shrugs.

“Might drop by. Grab some cake. There _will_ be cake, right, Captain?”

Steve smiles. “Count on it.”

+++

Bucky is standing by the window when Steve peeks into his room.

“Hey, Buck,” he says quietly. Bucky doesn’t turn around. “How are you doing?”

Bucky sighs when Steve comes up beside him. “I’ve been - I’ve been trying to remember more.”

“Well that’s a good thing!” Steve says, knocking his shoulder against Bucky’s. “Did you come up with anything?”

It’s then that Steve realizes how distraught Bucky looks. The ex-assassin shakes his head stiffly. His hair’s down, getting a bit greasy, and for a moment he looks like he did back when he was still the Winter Solider. He’s wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt, but Steve can see the outline of the red star through the fabric.

“Nothing,” Bucky mumbles. “Absolutely fuck-all.”

Steve is silent. He feels the familiar rise of panic in his chest, flooding his ribcage with dark, dirty water. Thoughts of _What if he never remembers? What if he stays broken like this forever?_ run through Steve’s mind, and he wants to punch himself for even thinking like that. Bucky isn’t broken - Steve knows that, rationally. The PTSD isn’t nearly as bad now as it had been a month ago, and Bucky’s been smiling more and more. He’s _healing_ , not broken. But Steve can’t shake the fear that Bucky’s memories will never be recovered.

“That’s okay,” he says, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Can I help?”

Bucky turns to face him. The lights in his room are out, but late pink sunlight streams in from the floor-to-ceiling window, lighting up the contours of his face. He looks at Steve through dark eyelashes. “You have already,” he says lowly, and there’s the barest hint of a smile in his tone. “I remembered something - a while ago. I just never-”

“What is it?” Steve asks, feeling his heart speed up. Bucky moves a bit closer and tilts his head a bit in a contemplating gesture. His hand - his flesh-and-blood one - drifts upward, and before Steve can process what’s happening, he feels Bucky’s fingers brush up his arm. They linger near his jaw. Steve swallows, his hand still on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I remembered,” Bucky breathes, and Steve can feel the puff of warm air on his mouth, “that I always wanted to do this.” And then Bucky leans forward and kisses Steve, full on the mouth, chaste but firm. Steve’s eyes flicker wide open and he almost takes a step back in surprise, but then Bucky’s fingers slide up Steve’s jaw. Fireworks are going off inside Steve’s brain, his nerves are on fire.

He thinks back to every fantasy he’d had, before the war, when they were growing up. Every dream about this - _this_ \- kissing Bucky. It had seemed like a wistful daydream. When Bucky fell from the train, it had turned into a regret, that he’d never done it while he had the chance. Steve had tried not to think about it since Bucky’s return. The guy was in a fragile state, this wasn’t the time for romantic drama. He still loved Bucky, of course, he had since they were kids. He’d forced those feelings into the back seat, focused on other people. On Peggy, first. He’d loved her, too, but it hadn’t made him love Bucky any less. Then, more recently, he’d focused on the Avengers, on his duty, his friends. But Bucky was always in the back of his mind somewhere. He’d never dreamed his best friend felt the same way.

But, here he is.

Steve feels Bucky tense, and realizes he hasn’t really kissed back yet. He remedies that immediately, pressing his lips against Bucky’s while his hands settle on Bucky’s waist.

They break apart slightly. Bucky laughs quietly, and it takes Steve a second to recognize the sound. “Damn, Rogers,” he murmurs, a Brooklyn twang creeping into his voice that makes Steve want to cry. “I thought you’d freak out.”

“Bucky,” Steve laughs back, feeling lightheaded. “Buck, I - you have no idea-”

He kisses Bucky one more time, to drive his point across. Bucky’s hand is warm against his jaw.

When they next stop for air, Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “You’ll remember,” he swears softly, like an oath. “I’ll help you remember. I promise.”

This, for some reason, makes Bucky draw back, giving Steve a guarded look. “What if I don’t?” he asks.

“What?”

“What if I never remember? What will you do then?”

“That won’t happen,” Steve says firmly.

Bucky makes a frustrated noise. “But what if it _does?”_

Frowning, Steve lets his hands fall to his sides, a cold spot blooming below his heart when Bucky does the same.“Buck, why’re you so adamant about this?”

“Why are _you_ so adamant about making me into the person I was before?” Bucky shoots back, and there’s venom there that Steve doesn’t understand. His mind is still reeling. How did they go from kissing to arguing in a matter of seconds?

“I’m gonna go,” Bucky says quietly, and leaves so quickly that Steve doesn’t get a chance to call after him. His head spins, aching, and he sits down on Bucky’s bed, hands curling into the thin fabric.

He hopes tomorrow will be better.


End file.
